Danger Lurks
by Sev Crucio
Summary: Someone is stalking Methos and seems to know everything about him. Maybe the Old Guy really isn't the oldest after all.


The storm seemed endless as the downpour increased and the lightning streaked the midnight sky, occasionally sending a runaway bolt slamming into a tree or the muddied pavement. While the other citizens of Paris sensibly stayed in their homes, out of the never ending downpour, a lone figure strolled along the streets unaffected by the angry flashes right above him. The man had seen towns and villages destroyed by tsunamis and had himself braved the raging waters of the Atlantic. He eyes held the secrets of mankind that only one who had been there at the beginning of time would know. This man was Methos.

He had spent the whole day at the University of Paris as a substitute lecturer in place of MacLeod. Claudia was playing at yet another overpriced and not to mention sold out concert and MacLeod for the life of him couldn't say no to a woman.

It had been a great experience for him today. While there a few who took the course just to ogle at MacLeod's body, though there was a fair amount of ogling today, there were others who did thirst for the knowledge of how men lived long ago. To learn about the battles fought, the new discoveries made and also their ancient lifestyles. He took great pleasure in imparting these pieces of knowledge to those hungry faces.

After the lectures, he spent the rest of the day at the university's library, updating his memory with the new medical journals. "Have to keep myself posted. Who knows when it may come in handy" he thought to himself. It had been close to midnight when he left the library. He left the Volvo there, preferring to walk instead. Though he hated large bodies of water, he had always loved the rain. It had a refreshing quality that always seemed to lift his spirits; something he had loved since he had been a child. "At least there's something I remember from my childhood", he mumbled. The 5000 year old man continued on to his apartment, enjoying the endless torrent of rain.

The door creaked open as Adam unlocked the door. The heavy reading at the library made his head feel like it weighed like a ton of bricks. He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

War cries had sounded at mid-morning catching everyone by surprise. The young men grabbed their swords and ran out of their huts to protect their village. His father led the group while he stayed at his side. The battle raged on with the clashes of metal and the cries of those who had fallen. He fought bravely, killing many of their men. He turned to see how his father was doing and was just in time to see the sword strike into the old man's throat, spilling his life's blood. The killer stood triumphant over his victim's body. His eyes filled with tears but refused to be weak. He picked up his father's crown and set it on his head. He picked up his sword and sliced open his hand, letting the blood drip to the ground. He slammed the sword hilt first into the ground and uttered a single word. "DenShar."

Methos sat up slowly trying to absorb this new piece of the puzzle which would give him insight into his origins. He put on his jeans and his trademark bulky sweater. A glimmer in the corner of the room caught his attention. He walked slowly towards the darkened end of his apartment and saw it. The sword stood erect an inch in the floor boards, the tip proudly displaying the moist red liquid running down its sides. He didn't bother closing the door on his way out.

"Methos, it is definitely too late to be here" whined the still half-unconscious Scot. The ancient immortal walked, albeit a little unsteadily, straight towards his fridge. MacLeod frowned. "No witty little retort" thought the Highlander"Somethings wrong." As he saw Methos bypass the beer and take a long hard gulp, make that three and counting, he ammended,of "The Good Stuff". "Definitely wrong."

"So you don't know who it was, how he knows that about you and why he's doing it" stated the Highlander. Methos nodded his head curtly, the tension and stress getting to him. "It could be a Watcher though"Methos mused. "Someone who's found out about me and using it against me; selling it to another immortal." He could just imagine being woken in the morning by a dozen immortal buzzes. Nooo Thank You!

"Or it could mean that you're not the oldest immortal after all" MacLeod joked but soon sobered up when he noticed the Methos wasn't amused.

"I've made many enemies in my life MacLeod and I've spent most of it battling them to the death. Some spending nearly their whole lives tracking me down. I've done more than enough chaos for them to devote their lives to killing me off. If I have left out one of those enemies, rest assured I won't survive the next few days." He walked out the door with his back straight. He was Methos and he would not die hiding in a hole fearing for his life.

The fog was getting thicker and he could hardly see anything a metre in front of him. His solitary footsteps echoed throughout the street. "Who could it be" he wondered. The sword was from such a distant part of his past that he could hardly remember. That would mean that someone older than him probably still lived. He had always been so sure that he was the oldest that he'd never bothered to check. But if whoever wanted a fight, so be it. He hadn't lived 5000 years just by running.

He waited outside his apartment building. If that person had got into his apartment before, he would probably come back again. The buzz didn't surprise him, but the figure that walked towards him did.

"MacLeod"

The Scot had that look on his face. "Oh no" Methos thought. "He's gone into clan chieftain mode again."

"I thought you would be in Tahiti by now." MacLeod stood hovering over as Methos sat on bonnet of the Volvo.

"Impudent little child" he thought. "Well I felt that I had to take care of this little problem first. So why don't you run along and play boss somewhere else." Sometimes, the little youngster got a little too smart for his own good.

"I don't want you to die Methos" he said with all the sympathy in the world. Gods!

The buzz this time did surprise him as he saw the immortal stand in the alleyway, covered by the dim lighting.

"This is MY fight MacLeod. If someone went through all the trouble to track me down from the past, someone my age...I have to face him one on one. No tricks. Whoever comes out alive deserves the title of being the oldest.

With that, Methos rose and followed the mysterious immortal.

The first view rays of sunshine seeped through a crack in the ceiling, giving a minimal amount of visibility in the dark storehouse. The very isolated location of the place made him shiver to think that if he should lose, it would probably be months before anyone found his decayed corpse. If it wasn't already eaten by the rats crawling around his feet.

"I've waited a long time for you...Methos. Is that what you call yourself? I would have thought that you would have kept the name your Taaker gave you. You being the noble princeling and all."

The immortal took in the confused look in Methos' eyes and grinned.

"You don't remember do you? Ah, yes. Hard to remember all those childhood memories. But I would have thought that you would still remember your name. Where did you get that name, Methos"

Methos flashed back to his youth, his 30s. How his teacher had found him and taken him in and given a name when he didn't remember it.

"You wanted to fight me, so here I am. Let's not waste each other's time on history lessons and who's who."

The Ivanhoe gleamed as he unsheathed it. He reached behind, took out his dagger and threw it to his side.

"Fair's fair."

The immortal withdrew his own broadsword and the two circled each other, noting hand positions, feet movement and looking into each other's eyes to get some clue of the other's next move.

The immortal was about MacLeod's build. Tall and muscular. As like all tall and muscular people, they weren't as fast as him. The immortal's first strike was sudden and strong, jarring his entire arm as the swords came in contact. Parrying the constant barrage of thrusts, Methos went on the offensive, returning a few thrusts and swipes of his own. He managed to score the immortal a few times, nothing major, but they nontheless added up into draining his strength.

Methos' premature congratulations got the better of him as the immortal blocked a thrust and answered with a slice across Methos' abdomen.

The world seemed to slow down at that moment and the seconds seemed to have stretched. Methos clutched his abdomen with his hand as the immortal raised his sword for the fatal blow.

He looked down at his chest as blood spilled out onto the concrete floor. The last thing he saw before the world darkened was the small wisps of smoke that came out of the nozzle of the pistol.

Methos raised the Ivanhoe above his shoulders and cut down with all his strength. The sword clattered to the ground noisily as the echoes of the fallen sword and the rumbles of thunder filled the empty storehouse. He had survived and this was his prize. Not just the power of the quickening, but the memories of the befallen man; the memories of His past. The lightning took him quickly and ferociously and the ground began to rumble. Lifted into the air, he welcomed the pain and the memories that came flooding back.

Taaker Father


End file.
